All Our Scattered Leaves (part 5/6)
by Mercutio of Naboo
Summary: Master Skywalker gets mixed up with gangsters and smugglers, while a young would-be Jedi finds out just how irritating a mischeivous Jedi Master can be.


All Our Scattered Leaves  
************************  
  
Part 5:  
  
The old man moved up the stairs behind the smugglers, avoiding the occasional pieces of garbage and loose stones that had caught in the lattice of the metalwork. Once, many years ago, he would have crept along. Now he just moved, and knew that he would be undetected. The young rodian Jedi was behind him, making too much noise although he no doubt believed he was being quiet, his hand resting on the lightsaber clipped to his belt. The boy was too hasty, too impatient, and too eager to make use of abilities he barely understood, the old man thought- then wondered why that sounded familiar. Remembering, he began to chuckle to himself, shaking his head. 'Oh Yoda' he voiced, silently, 'I wish I had understood you better when you were still alive.'  
  
They had climbed several stories, passing closed doors on each level, when the presence of others in the building came to the old man's awareness. He paused in the stairwell, focussing through the Force, then shivered slightly. One of the life traces was unexpectedly familiar, tinged with the taint of death and violence. The old man thoughtfully ruffled a hand through his hair, drawing in a long breath then releasing it slowly. It would not do to let past memories cloud his thinking now.  
  
"What's the hold-up, Granddad?" Reeshto was already ahead, peering back down over the railings and whispering urgently.  
  
"I dropped something," the old man replied. "It's back down there." He pointed down the stairs.  
  
"What? Oh, puh-lease! Alright, alright, I'll get it." Reeshto pattered downwards, brushing past the old man and grumbling under his breath. He turned the corner, out of sight and therefore unable to see the slight smile that twitched at the old man's lips.  
  
Returning to solemnity, the old man settled quietly back against the wall. He was watching the door on the level just below him, satisfied that the young Rodian was out of harm's way, at least for the moment. He did not have long to wait. A tall Twi'lek, accompanied by thuggish-looking members of several species, came through the door and headed towards the stairs.  
  
"Ssszeen, you take three others and go round the back to meet them from behind. If they are unwilling to negotiate, we'll try... other tactics." The twi'lek's pointy-toothed grin indicated his hopes that 'they' would be uncooperative. The old man's expression darkened somewhat, and then cleared as he concentrated on the Force.  
  
Four of the group peeled off from the rest and continued along the corridor below. The rest climbed the stairs, walking straight past the old man, completely oblivious to his presence. They stopped at the floor above, filing through another doorway. The door had barely swished closed behind them when Reeshto reappeared, carrying a pebble and grumbling to himself. The rodian frowned at the door.  
  
"Did I hear something just now?" he whispered.  
  
"Maybe," Master Skywalker replied. "Or maybe you didn't /hear/ anything."  
  
Reeshto was both suspicious and irritated. He held out the pebble. "Here."  
  
"Keep it," the old man replied, smiling with generosity.  
  
"You what? I though it was important!"  
  
"It is," the old man agreed, his grin widening even as he waved a hand to tell the youngster to keep the volume down. 'Not the pebble itself,' he amended silently, allowing himself to feel just a little pleased, 'but the fact that the kid knew what I wanted even though I never actually told him what he was fetching.' "Thank you," he added, aloud. "We'll have to hurry to catch up, I'm afraid."  
  
Reeshto was barely hanging on to his temper. "Look, granddad, I really appreciate how public-spirited you are in wanting to help and all, but what I really need you to do is go back and tell the authorities. Please?" he added, hopefully, then tried not growl in frustration as the old man blithely took the lead once more. "Then again, you can always go get yourself killed, I mean, I only just met you, why should I care what happens to a crazy old man..." the young rodian's all but inaudible monologue followed him up the stairs.  
  
As it turned out, it was not hard to catch up with the smugglers. Their voices sounded clearly from the end of the corridor two flights up. Creeping in that direction, their shadowers found themselves in some kind of power generation plant, a long room full of silent, disused machinery, bulky cabling and snaking lines of heavily-insulated piping.  
  
"So what's the plan?" the old man whispered. "I think you were going to fight them or something?"  
  
Reeshto hesitated. It was true that his idea when he first followed the smugglers ran along the lines of charging them heroically with lightsaber blazing. Now he reconsidered, there were a lot more of them than there were of him, even if they didn't have the Force to help them. Besides, if he was absolutely truthful about it he was somewhat repelled by the thought of just killing them all, even if they were Dew smugglers. "Of course not," he replied firmly, hoping it sounded as if that was what he'd had in mind all along. "We find out what they're up to, then go tell someone."   
  
"Fair enough." The old man's eyes rested on Reeshto a moment longer, and the rodian shifted uncomfortably. How was it that some senile old headcase could manage to give the impression that he knew what the right thing was to do, and was just waiting for Reeshto to work it out before going along for the ride? Touching his lightsaber for reassurance, reminding himself that he was the Jedi around here and he had work to do, Reeshto crept towards the smugglers.  
  
The machinery gave them plenty of cover until they reached the central section of the room, which opened out somewhat. Reeshto craned his head to see where the smugglers had got to, then decided to risk a short dash to the shadow of what looked like a storage-tank. He took only one step before coming to an abrupt stop. A stray length of wiring had caught in his toes, and as he jumped forwards it snapped taught, then pulled out the plug it was attached to. The plug hit the ground with a faint clatter, and Reeshto hurriedly dropped back into his former hiding-place, cursing himself. His curses became more inventive as he heard the smugglers coming to investigate and he retreated still further, crowding in beside the old man.  
  
"We gotta find somewhere else," he mouthed at the old man, who did not seem in the slightest bit panicked. "There's enough of them to cover this place pretty well. C'mon, back this way." Hugging the shadows, they worked quickly back towards the end at which they had entered.  
  
"Rab, activate the security doors will ya?" The captain was clearly audible, the acoustics of the big room proving to be excellent. "Don't do to take chances, an' I don't trust our contacts."  
  
Reeshto managed not to swear once again when his escape-route slid shut, the red lock-light winking on the palm-pad beside it. Swallowing back a slight spurt of nervousness, he looked around for another hiding place. Then he looked up. The piping and cabling climbed the walls and sprawled across the ceiling, casting strange shadows in the somewhat ineffective lighting. Maintenance ladders were fixed here and there, and up above...  
  
"There!" Reeshto hissed, pointing to the overhead hatchway. "We can get through there. C'mon!" He tugged at the old man's arm, but Lars seemed oblivious to rodian's urgency. He was frowning slightly at the ladder that they would have to climb, and hesitated at the foot, fingering the metal.  
  
"Oh come /on/!" Reeshto growled.  
  
"It's no good simply keeping your eyes open, young Jedi," the old man said then, and Reeshto jumped a little at his use of the title. "You need to understand what it is you are looking at."  
  
"Look, granddad, we don't have time for you to go nuts right now, so if you could put off the insanity until we get out of here, I would /really/ appreciate it. I'll even buy you a towel so you can practice drooling, just get up the ladder!"  
  
Old Man Lars gave an almost imperceptible sigh, closed his eyes, and started climbing. Reeshto followed right behind, willing the old man to greater speed, but instead of hurrying their pace grew slower. Old Lars hauled onto the pipe at the top of the ladder with his head bowed and his hands shaking a little. For the first time Reeshto felt genuine concern for the man, and put out a hand to steady him.  
  
"Thanks. I'm okay. Just a little out of practice," the old man muttered, moving away from the ladder and Reeshto's helping hand. "Come on." He crawled towards the nearest ceiling-hatch, along the top of a broad section of pipework.  
  
"Well hey, that's what I've been saying all along!" Reeshto complained, crawling behind. They had gone no more than ten bodylengths when there was a shrieking groan of tearing metal, followed by a loud clang that reverberated about the warehouse.  
  
"Eflik!" Reeshto swung round, trying to see what had happened. He looked down over the side of the pipe, spotting the ladder they had just climbed still bouncing slightly on the floor beneath. The brackets that had held it up were now merely bent and torn flaps of rusted metal. 'Lucky that didn't go when we were still on it,' the rodian thought with a small sigh of relief.  
  
"Luck?" the old man queried from in front. He hadn't even turned around, and was busy with the hatch. "That will definitely have got their attention. It's time to be somewhere else." The hatch opened, and the pair scrambled through.  
  
******  
  
"More good luck!" Reeshto exclaimed, looking about him with delight as old Lars closed the hatch. "This corridor must go right across the top of that power room, and whatever's behind it. We can just find a hatch in the right place and listen in on what they're up to. They can't even follow us now the ladder's gone!" He started down the hall, pausing to press his ear to each hatch they passed over. Old Lars ambled gently behind, the pair of them forming the somewhat incongruous picture of an elderly gentleman walking a large and very inquisitive young vrill-hound.  
  
"They just opened the doors again," Reeshto remarked quietly after a time. "They've gone through to the next room, I think," he added as they reached the next hatch. "It's not easy to hear much, I think we should check the end of the corridor and see if there's another way down to them."  
  
Old Lars nodded, and the pair moved on more quickly. The corridor ended in yet another flight of stairs, this one open on one side as it descended the wall of a large storeroom or warehouse, which apparently backed onto the power-room. Reeshto and the old man risked a quick glance into the room. The smugglers had settled themselves about the place with an apparently casual air, although the two observers both noted that they had positioned themselves to make good use of the solid walls and the available cover.  
  
"Y'know, Cap," one of the smugglers was saying, conversationally, "I still don't get why you picked up that vaccine. I mean, whoever smuggles medicine?"  
  
"Gil, just 'cause we ship some stuff tax free don't mean we can't take legit cargos now an' then. I heard they're pretty desperate for that vaccine over on Yuop. We'll get at least five times what it cost us, and it's lightweight, too. High value low volume. We might have to go in for more medical shipments like that."  
  
One of the other smugglers nudged the captain in the ribs with an elbow. "You gettin' soft in ya old age, Cap'n... ow!" The smuggler staggered as the captain's fist caught him on the jaw.  
  
"You're gettin' soft in the head, Rab. It's good business sense. One more crack like that and you can find yourself another ship. That goes for the rest of you, too. Clear?" There was a mumbled agreement from the group. Satisfied that his authority was still intact, the smuggler captain found another crate to sit on, keeping his back to the wall.  
  
Their quarry now stationary, Reeshto and the old man moved back out of earshot. "What're they doing?" Reeshto asked, not really expecting an answer.  
  
"What do you think?" the old man asked.  
  
"I dunno. Waiting, it looks like."  
  
"For who?"  
  
"How should I know?"  
  
"You're the Jedi. Aren't you?"  
  
There was no suggestion of a teasing note to the old man's voice, but Reeshto couldn't help wondering if somewhere, on some level, the old man was treating the whole situation as if it were some enormous joke. Even as the rodian started to wonder about that, he saw the suggestion of a grin cross the old man's face, then vanish so fast as to leave him doubting what he had seen. Reeshto gave the old man an unfriendly glare, then snorted and tried to do some thinking.  
  
"We can't go down these stairs, they'd see us and we'd be blasted away before you could say 'crispy toasted Jedi'. There were two doors to that room on the level below, I saw it when we snuck that look at the smugglers," the rodian began. The old man nodded approvingly. "If we go back down one level, we can either go through the power room, if it's open now, or find our way around to the other door. I think the second door was for moving goods in and out; it probably opens onto the roof of the next building. I know there's landing pads for heavy airhoppers around this sector. So if we can't get through the power room, we look for an exit and try the roof."  
  
"That sounds like a plan." Reeshto gave the old man a sharp glance. There was nothing in Lars' expression or voice to suggest sarcasm or amusement, but... shrugging off his half-formed suspicions, the rodian jumped to his feet. "Yeah, well, come on then." He failed to see Lars' lips compress in sudden concern, or the way the old man turned his head as he caught the distant sound of renewed conversation. The twi'lek had reached the warehouse. The smugglers were about to find out that their contact had his own unique brand of negotiation- one which the old man had met only one before. It had cost him a good friend then. He hoped it wouldn't cost him a new student now.  
  
A door opened as the old man passed by. Once more figures filed past without ever seeing him, this time Ssszeen and his three companions. The old man went calmly on his way until the corridor turned a corner. Then he leaned against the wall and took a few long breaths. Reeshto was already hunting for a route down to the level below, but he turned back when he saw the old man's weary pose.  
  
"Hey, you sure you're okay?"  
  
"I'll be fine. Size matters not, but numbers make a difference. It's been a long time."  
  
"Yeah... right..." Reeshto said, warily. Maybe the guy really was half senile.  
  
"Have you found a way down?"  
  
Reeshto nodded. "Place is more complicated than a sandworm burrow. This way."  
  
******  
  
The power room was deserted. Reeshto and the old man made their way cautiously through until they reached the door to the warehouse. The pair bent forwards to listen. The old man already had a fairly good idea of what to expect, but he had not anticipated his companion's reaction to the voice that reached them through the closed door.  
  
"Dew? That does put a different complexion on things, yes." The twi'lek was all but purring with anticipation and greed.  
  
'Drangor?' Reeshto's neck-scales bristled with anger. If the gang lord twi'lek was in town, then Space City wasn't safe any more. Not until Reeshto dealt with him, at any rate, and the young Rodian had every intention of doing just that. Reeshto had a score to settle with Drangor. He unclipped his lightsaber from his belt and reached for the palm-pad for the door, then found the old man's hand at his wrist.  
  
"Let me go!" Reeshto pulled his hand out of the old man's gentle grasp. "I've got business with that guy."  
  
"Isn't it a little risky, charging in on your own?"  
  
"I told you, I've got business. I can handle it."  
  
"With that?" The old man indicated the lightsaber. "Killing isn't always the answer."  
  
"He deserves to die."  
  
"What makes you the judge of that?"  
  
Reeshto was too agitated to hear the stern edge to the old man's quiet voice. "He killed my brother!"  
  
"That's no reason to take more lives."  
  
Reeshto glared at the old man, his fury rising to cover other feelings that he was less willing to show. "Have you any idea what it's like to see your brother killed just because he was standing in the wrong place? Have you?"  
  
"Yes."  
  
Reeshto felt as if he'd run into a wall, all his anger suddenly knocked out of him. He hadn't known it was possible to put such emotion into a single word. Understanding, anguish, sympathy and acceptance were all contained in one simple sound. Reeshto found it impossible to meet the old man's eyes, the depth of meaning they held just too much for him to bear. Avoiding what he could not cope with, he turned away.  
  
"Crazy old man," he muttered. "Drangor's got it coming."  
  
"That is very likely" the old man agreed, surprising the young rodian yet again, "but not from you. Listen."  
  
After hesitating only a moment, Reeshto tilted his head and set an ear to the door. "That is my final offer, gentlebeings." Drangor's somewhat effeminate voice sounded bored and condescending. "In your position, I'd accept."  
  
"In our position?" The smuggler captain was scornful. "We'll only sell when the price is right. We're not short of funds."  
  
"Perhaps, but you /are/ surrounded." Although they could not see through the door, the two eavesdroppers knew that Drangor was smiling. "Two thousand credits. Take it or leave it, but as I say... you'd far better take it."  
  
"It's not what we agreed, Drangor. The two thousand is for the farm droids. The dew is a separate deal. We're not figuring on selling that unless we get the right offer."  
  
"Farm droids without the skillchip reprogramming codes are no use to me and nor, it would seem, are you."  
  
"Why you..." the smuggler captain's startled oath was lost in a burst of blaster-fire. Reeshto and the old man both ducked instinctively as two bolts smacked into the far side of the door, but the duraplas was solid and the door held firm. More shots resounded from the warehouse beyond, mingled with orders and yelps of pain. Drangor gave one angry command that turned into a gurgled scream, and the blasters fell silent.  
  
The old man closed his eyes and rested his forehead against the cool metal sheathing of the doorframe. Drangor was dead. The old man had felt the life slip away. Reeshto would not have his revenge, and nor would he, which was for the best. A Jedi should not seek revenge, even for a brother or a friend.  
  
Wide-eyed, Reeshto reached for the palm-pad again, and this time the old man did not stop him. The door swished open, and Reeshto realised his mistake. The smugglers spun to face him, trigger-fingers poised. The fight had taken most of them out of immediate line of site of the door, which gave Reeshto just long enough to slap the pad again and grab the old man's arm, pulling him towards the exit. He looked for cover as the smugglers started after them, slightly surprised when the captain called after them instead of just shooting.  
  
"I'm not arguing with anyone who takes Drangor out," the rodian declared as he and the old man dodged between bits of machinery. "Dew or no dew, they're okay by me."  
  
"Your enemy's enemy isn't always your friend," the old man countered, ducking under a large generator coil.  
  
"I'm still not arguing with anyone who takes Drangor out," Reeshto said, darting from behind a fuel tank. "You ever seen that guy with a blaster?"  
  
"Yes."  
  
Reeshto paused, once more taken aback by the depth of feeling in the old man's voice. "Guess you do understand, huh?" he said, swallowing against the lump that rose in his throat.  
  
Before the old man could reply, a blaster bolt seared the wall behind them. "Stop! I wanna talk!"  
  
Reeshto shook his head and stayed hidden. The old man seemed to be watching him, not the smuggler captain who had stepped into the open.  
  
"C'mon out. If you're not with Drangor, I'm not aiming ta shoot ya. Yet."  
  
Reeshto tugged at the old man's sleeve and nodded at the doorway, now just within reach of a final dash. "You up for it?" he mouthed. The old man glanced between the smugglers and the door, then looked at Reeshto with narrowed eyes, considering. He made a movement with his hand, as if relinquishing the decision to the rodian.  
  
Reeshto took a breath. He knew that, in theory, he could use the Force for extra speed. What he didn't know was how, or whether he could do the same for old Lars. Now was the time to try, if ever. He took another breath, trying to forget his tension and reach out with his senses, wrapping the Force about himself and the old man. Old Lars blinked in mild surprise, but the rodian didn't have time to ponder why. He gave the old man a countdown on his fingers, then charged towards the door, willing himself and the old man through to safety.  
  
'I must have done /something/,' Reeshto thought to himself as he stumbled to a halt in the corridor outside, dizzy and weak. He felt as if an overweight Bantha had sat him on. The old man's hand was on his arm, steadying him, and he managed to straighten a little, shaking his head to clear it.  
  
"Not bad," the old man said. "Just needs a bit of work on the stamina. What happens next? I think our smuggler friends wanted to talk." The old man waved a hand towards the doorway.  
  
Reeshto looked up in dismay. He'd been so sure that the two of them had reached the end of the corridor. Instead, they were still outside the power room. The smuggler captain was watching them with slight bemusement, but that puzzlement wasn't affecting the steady aim of the blaster now trained on the pair. The rest of the crew came up behind their captain. Grimly they lifted their weapons, looking anything but friendly and ready to talk.  
  
  
[...and so, dear readers, we leave our plot clinging desperately to the cliff by its remaining fingernails...]  



End file.
